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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27587426">tip tip toe—stop</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchestra/pseuds/orchestra'>orchestra</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>SEVENTEEN (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(and everything in between), Friends to Lovers, M/M, Tenderness, alternate universe - mid 20's, anecdotal, film major mingyu and dancer minghao, gyuhao are absolutely positively married you wont change my mind, second generation kids living their truth in the city</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:01:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,400</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27587426</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchestra/pseuds/orchestra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>the fire escape creaks under the soles of their swaying feet. so many years, and here minghao is, still discovering something marvelously new: the way mingyu’s hair curls mysteriously in the moonlight, the way mingyu gasps when minghao sucks gently on his bottom lip, the way mingyu’s hands fit on minghao’s hips, and his on mingyu’s shoulders. </p><p>in this transparency, a little less afraid, minghao smiles, and holds on tight.</p><p>-</p><p>life, a procession. what a joy, to welcome change. their thoughts and hands and hearts will learn. minghao flows.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kim Mingyu/Xu Ming Hao | The8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>tip tip toe—stop</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>ive recently been swept under the feet by gyuhao. gyuhao. gyuhao... wow...<br/>sure, there's the whole "mingyu and i like to dance because we're a pair of romantic goons in love and we want everyone else to share in our happiness" bit that absolutely destroyed me. but a lot of this was driven by the concept of mingyu wanting to be loved, and minghao wanting to love (creds to deb) and then this bit, from minghao's birthday video on weibo:<br/>“as i get into the world of art, i’m finding the energy and stories that pure art contains… i finally felt like i found who i am. and it seems so transparent to me.”</p><p>and i felt.. that ah, minghao is growing, and he'll continue to grow, and become more beautiful.. in so many directions and planes.<br/>anyway..gyuhao</p><p>there's quite a bit of my own passings, but ive transformed them to offer gyuhao a happiness they deserve<br/>thank you so kindly for swinging by<br/>i hope you'll enjoy, even if just a bit</p><p> </p><p> <br/><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ufjJ_YfNyLk">tip toe - crush ft. lee hi</a><br/>🍊</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>遲日江山麗</p><p>春風花草香</p><p>泥融飛燕子</p><p>沙暖睡鴛鴦</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>by the time they get to the top, the sun will have already started her descent down st mark’s place. minghao knows. he can feel it in the palms of his hands which, currently, are cupping the small of mingyu’s back—but that has nothing to do with the warmth kindling in his fingertips, or the weightlessness of his heart in knowing dusk will soon cover. none at all. ah, anyway, minghao knows, and can’t wait to see it. now if only mingyu would just hurry up.</p><p>“why are they,” mingyu squawks as he teeters mid-step. it’s dangerous, and minghao doesn’t know how many times he’s told mingyu that there’s no humanly possible way minghao could ever, <em> ever </em> save the both of them from a whoopsie down a stairwell, and that mingyu would have to deal with his spirit hanging onto his shoulders for the rest of his life, knowing full well that mingyu is terrified of ghosts. just in one ear and out the other sometimes. (though during today’s lecture, when they rounded the second flight, mingyu had pandered: well, you know i always need you by my side, so you better hold on tight. minghao had slapped himself in the face. is anyone hearing this guy?)</p><p>“why’re they?” minghao echoes. he only just realizes mingyu’s stopped entirely in his tracks now, as he feels the elbows of his sweater begin to pool. he neglects to skid to a stop, and ends up with his nose pressing into the collar of mingyu’s shirt. </p><p>mingyu starts to lift his camera, and then puts it down, as he takes his eye from the viewfinder to instead scan the perimeter of the staircase above them. he scratches at his shoulder. “why are they <em> everywhere </em>?”</p><p>by this, mingyu’s referring to these plastic(?) flies trapped in domes of bubble wrap and gum. there are smatterings of colorful papier-mâché pulp which might have been pasted onto the walls not too long ago because, minghao squints—he shouts, “watch out!”</p><p>mingyu, with a screech, trips over his feet and almost smashes his face into a thankfully empty patch of wall. minghao can’t help himself, giggling from his tummy, at the look of pure agony and betrayal. “hao!”</p><p>“you almost died!” minghao tickles. he points down to the blob of blue on the floor that’s just narrowly missed the tip of mingyu’s nose. it’s always fun watching mingyu pout. he kinda condenses, lips first, then his brows, then nose. splat. it’s cute.</p><p>“you’re <em> sooo </em>,” mingyu huffs, then trails off, as minghao points a finger up to the ceiling again. “what?” he flinches, pulling in minghao by the shoulders to hide.</p><p>and minghao just laughs, as his body totters in mingyu’s hold, “let’s go. we’re blocking the stairs.” </p><p>they look behind and below them, and through the railing, they can see a small group of people looking back up at them, noses touching the rim of the thin flutes in their hands. they’re in no rush though, waiting on line for the basement exhibit. when mingyu asked the woman at the register-made-reception desk what it was about, she kinda went, uhhh, well, hm, you’ll have to see and feel it yourself? which is totally fair, and minghao respected it, feeling maybe marginally more comfortable parting with his bag at the desk. like, what were the chances someone else brought a lime green nylon print tote bag of jason polan’s dog sketches to this function? mingyu, slipping the bag off minghao’s right shoulder, had insisted minghao’s taste unrivaled, and had pocketed into his pants’ many pockets minghao’s eyeglass case, wallet, handkerchief. minghao, flustered, put his hand out, and in return, mingyu slapped a pamphlet into his open palm with a toothy grin, mouthing: it’s free! and minghao had giggled into his wrist, resolved. behind mingyu, who parts the sea of people in the bookstore, broad, solid, minghao floats, rowing his lilypad on tranquil waters.</p><p>and so what then is the cost of transcendence? certainly it couldn’t have been worth mingyu curled in on himself in that low and narrow and musty hall for even a minute longer. none of it suited him. mingyu’s luster was lost on the washed plaster of the basement walls, and the eau de parfum that rounded so beautifully the edges of mingyu’s shadow was dissipating, into the porous floor. what’s the point, if <em> mingyu </em> isn’t here to enjoy it with? so when the guy with the tally counter quoted thirty minutes and said the rooftop was open with free beer, minghao spun on his heel and tugged mingyu up the stairs. he assured mingyu over and over the entire first flight up that yes, it was <em> totally </em> okay. he’d seen plenty.</p><p>(after all, they’d only walked into the bookstore because minghao was on the hunt for the cheapest copy of anni &amp; josef albers within a 3.5mi radius of their apartment. earlier that day, he’d received promising intel from someone on lex, three days after posting. it’s kinda magical how they found his post, actually. what keywords did they use? anyway, their proposition to go together was, uhh, sweet but maybe a bit too sticky to minghao’s liking, so he’d gently declined. besides, he already has his bookstore buddy. and he’s more than enough.) </p><p>he could use the drink right around now, though. said buddy is already booking it up the stairs three at a time with those stupid gangly legs, leaving minghao to eat his dust. minghao watches on, from three, seven, twelve steps behind. mingyu hovers his hand above his camera strap again, not sure what or where or why to take. go crazy, minghao mouths when mingyu looks behind him and to him, eyes round, intaking. mingyu purses his lips, then takes a few swift snaps of minghao from his perch up top. minghao bites his cheek and grins. </p><p>on his way following, he stops on the fourth floor to step into a room steeped in a deep azure, like that bottle of gt’s sacred life kombucha that’s been resting on mingyu’s work desk for four days now. the room’s empty, save for a small foldable metal table, two stools, and a projector whirring softly. what’s playing? the film (there’s a lone windmill, on a hill, spinning, spinning,) is grainy, and warps around the sudden jutting of a division along the wall. amber subtitles float with no designated space or place. everything, minghao wonders, is simply subtext and context. he catches the specks floating before the projector light and remembers, ah—</p><p>“we’ll miss the sunset,” mingyu says softly into his ear. minghao’s toes scrunch. he feels it.</p><p>the door to the rooftop is heavy. mingyu shoulders it open and they pour out, into a warm gust. as minghao expected, the setting sun striates, trickling down the brownstone across the street, highlighting cheekbones drawn in small smiles, warming necks that crane to look, not at them, but at the passing of a helicopter, then into their company’s eyes. ah, hm, minghao hears mingyu breathe in deeply and thinks, yeah, exactly. there’s a low buzz of music that minghao can feel through his soles. or maybe that’s the rattling of idle car engines from the street below, maybe kids are stomping, maybe the halal carts are flocking to rest. minghao’s earrings just can’t seem to say still, like they know too, this isn’t their very usual scene. his body thrums, conducive, from the ends of his hair tickling his neck to his ankles. minghao touches mingyu’s wrist lightly. it’s a simple coefficient, mingyu is, and suddenly minghao’s grounded, to a calmer warmth in his heart center. mingyu cups his hand.</p><p>then, “everyone’s so,” mingyu mumbles, “white.”</p><p>minghao blows a raspberry through his sealed lips, thumps mingyu on the shoulder. it dispels some of the jitters. “yah!” (it’s a fair observation though. there’s an absolute tenacity that must be acknowledged of the white attire. minghao wouldn’t dare—not around mingyu at least. no amount of tide-to-go could wash out the wonderful colors of that world.)</p><p>“but, like, really.” mingyu’s pouting again, as he tugs on the hem of his crew neck. “of all days i decide to wear red? and, and,” he gestures down to his pants wildly, accidentally knocking elbows with a man behind him, “<em> khaki! </em>”</p><p>minghao flattens down the wrinkles of his own sweater, still snickering.  “at least one of us had to have pockets.” </p><p>mingyu scrunches his lips together in a petulant grin. he hoists his pants up with somewhat of a violent shimmy, jingling somewhere in the general vicinity of his dick. minghao laughs out loud into his hand. he reminds mingyu again of the plethora of belts he can borrow from any time, like, <em> please </em>. and mingyu smacks: who needs a belt with an ass this fat? minghao, covering his whole face now, cackles. you’re not wrong, minghao wheezes. the sun wraps warmly around his fingers.</p><p>okay, but let me hold my wallet at least? nah, don’t worry about it. gyu, and if your pants actually <em> fall </em> ? you can hold them up for me then! you’re so <em> shtew </em>pit. </p><p>grinning, i-know-i-am-and-so-are-you, mingyu touches minghao’s wrist, and points to a few coolers resting along a wall. ah, familiar. minghao holds onto mingyu’s pinky and twists the ring timidly between his fingers as they reach land. </p><p>“stella spritzers?” minghao observes aloud. he wipes the condensation on the tips of his fingers on mingyu’s sleeve. “what’s this all about.”</p><p>“i dunno. sounds kinda perfect though.” mingyu reaches back down for his own, and accidentally pulls three cans with one grab. he bursts into an embarrassed giggle and shows off his winnings to minghao. a westward wind, of mingyu’s gardenia perfume, and a char of octopus leg(?) carries off minghao’s incredulous laugh. three years ago, maybe, minghao would’ve hushed mingyu and dunked his hand back into the still ice bath, and chided him, about mannerisms or what the fuck ever. he knows better now; or, like, they know themselves better, and they’re a little less afraid of the world, of themselves. he knows two-drink minghao, and he knows he’d really appreciate leaning back against the railing, watching the clouds melt from the evening sky, onto his lips, as they curl, up, listening to mingyu dub random strangers’ conversations, and eventually, holding—oh, never mind. minghao cracks open the top of the can with a nimble thumb, then takes another off mingyu. he gently kicks the cooler at the right angle, and the lid swings shut. </p><p>tzzzs’k. clink. gulp. “huh?” they gawp at each other in short mirrored echoes. mingyu’s upper lip is speckled with bubbles. minghao can feel it fizzle on his own lip, effervescent. “it’s <em> sooo </em> good?” they laugh out loud. </p><p>it travels outward. that’s where they’re headed, too, outward, mingyu seems to have determined, towards a corner occupied by two planters soaking in the last rays. minghao thinks: it’s perfect.</p><p>they embark, an idle and simple trek. minghao finds he can sashay through the crowd with ease. a brush past an arm, a limbo under the suspension of some hushed secrets, oops. he sways in step with the click of a metronomic beat, zigzagging along mingyu’s path, until he finds himself in a rare clearing. mingyu turns around when their hands disconnect. he looks to minghao with his brows rumpled, then thrown sky high, as he laughs at the sight of minghao twirling about on the tip of his boot. he sways, and he dips, and he brings his arms loosely around his center. his heels barely touch the ground. mingyu laughs through his shoulders. you think you’re an idol or something?</p><p>yeah, watch me, minghao says with a swig. there are eyes on him now, necks craned, brows raised. ooh, it gets to him. an evening breeze tickles him up his sleeve, and he rocks lightly. he lets his head slowly roll back as he runs his hands up, through soft fabric, until they frame his jaw, (careful, mingyu clambers, you’ll spill!), tongue out to taste the last few tropical drops of orange sun. and then he smacks his lips, and shakes his shoulders wildly and huffs: 잔소리는 stop it! 알아서 할게! </p><p>mingyu sprays his spritzer, and he falls into formation, fanning his face and laughing out: not shy, not me! (in unison: <em> itzaaaay! </em>)</p><p>a silly rush of joy swells within him, and minghao stumbles into mingyu’s arms. he smacks mingyu’s chest, laughing at and with them. faintly, he realizes how easy this is. does he know? minghao wants to ask. mingyu’s hands cup the backs of minghao’s arms so fondly.</p><p>“probably,” seokmin grumbles through tight lips. he’s got a clementine in both hands, and he’s trying to prove to jihoonie hyung that he indeed can peel both of them together, at once, symmetrically, without breaking the peel. yeah, minghao loves his stupid ass friends.<br/>“have you tried telling him?”</p><p>and minghao, watching seokmin dig his thumb nails into the clementines, get fucking clocked in the face by the citrus spray, and fall off minghao’s desk chair, starts to laugh. not because of seokmin (this is already seokmin’s fourth fall of the night; it’s already his second bag of clementines; it’s already way past jihoon’s bed time) but instead because of <em> himself </em> : a true tragicomedy, of the wainscoting of swatches and sketches and stills, and meticulously lined wine bottles, and dreams he’s spoken into the paint, of the only ways minghao fucking knows how to say <em> i love you </em>. when seokmin comes to, it’s just in time, for him to reach out his timid hands to catch minghao’s tears. because perhaps not even this is enough.</p><p>minghao pulls himself away, still buzzing. that was two years ago. they’re a little less afraid of themselves now.</p><p>mingyu sighs, “oh, kwannie would’ve loved that.” </p><p>minghao slumps against the railing, grinning, his shoulder meets mingyu’s. the frond of an airplane plant tickles his calf. </p><p>“he’d probably be one leg over, actually,” minghao muses. he drops his head back between his shoulder blades, eyes closed. he exhales, “i don’t think i’ve ever danced on a rooftop like that.”</p><p>of course he’s imagined it before. in his leisurely daydreams, it’d have taken several slims of malagousia into an inky night. it’d have been a sweet and slow lindy. it’d have been among other jiving couples, or their friends, or in the privacy of two. he’s not all disappointed though. with mingyu here, constant coefficient, it feels something special all the same. </p><p>mingyu rests his head gently atop minghao’s. “was it fun?”</p><p>minghao flutters his eyes open, grins. “mhm.”</p><p>mingyu’s little canines pop as he smiles, “well, we’ve got a fire escape. how ‘bout dancing there?” mingyu drums his fingers on the can. “i’ll stand watch from the sidewalk.”</p><p>minghao laughs at the thought. it’s maybe half-missing the point. he smiles fondly into the rim of his can. or maybe it’s all-encompassing. “would be a great spot for the next film.”</p><p>mingyu lifts his drink. “i’m your guy.”</p><p>minghao clinks. it’s paper-soft. “you are.”</p><p>mingyu shifts then, arm propped on the railing, head resting against the hills and valleys of his knuckles. he’s standing right where the sun drapes, and it’s so fucking incredible, how beautiful his friend is. does he know? minghao wants to ask. the light pooling in mingyu’s eyes is so full and warm. he looks away, and mingyu continues to watch him. his toes scrunch. he feels it.</p><p>mingyu makes a mild comment about the fair breezes. minghao points out some guy standing on the coolers. mingyu swears that’s his t.a. from portraiture. minghao laughs at the little girl he meets eyes with from the apartment across the street, who shouts, i like your skirt, it’s pretty! do you think they have hors d'oeuvres? mingyu… they try to guess what the dj’s playing, what his soundcloud handle is. mingyu tells him about a dream he had recently; minghao listens intently. they admire a string of blue-purple-yellow lights floating along the far wall of the patio. it’s transforming, segment by segment of its origami planes, a bird in perpetual flight. mingyu asks if he wants to get dinner with soonyoung and jeonghan tomorrow. only if soonyoung pays, minghao jokes; soonyoung unsends his message and sends a middle finger instead. minghao mentions that they need to finally put together their coffee table before the next movie night so they can get through a <em> single </em> movie without an upended popcorn bowl; mingyu begrudgingly agrees, though that’s what vacuums are for. minghao slowly cants the lines of a 绝句; mingyu listens intently. hao, there’s a puppy in her bag! wait, she’s looking our way! et cetera, et cetera, until minghao feels his mouth running dry from laughing and sighing, and pauses to finish his can.</p><p>and then he blinks at the pang of a flash. his eyes snap to mingyu’s camera, cradled in his hands. mingyu’s not looking at him, and is instead busily toggling with settings, mumbling: the sun was <em> finally </em>at the right angle, and i turned the fucking flash on, i’m so.</p><p>minghao, oh, minghao flushes in his cheeks. he tries to laugh, but the stars in his eyes, they’re so disorienting, he’s stunned into silence as he watches mingyu smile down sweetly at the screen. does he know? minghao wants to ask. all he can see in the reflection of mingyu’s eyes is himself.</p><p>“you’re really,” mingyu murmurs, and he brings his gaze up to minghao, and he smiles, “so handsome.”</p><p>minghao sucks in his bottom lip. “not really,” he whispers. he folds, to the words brushing against his forehead. they’re ticklish, tacky: yeah, well, <em> i’m </em>beholding it.</p><p>when he opens his eyes again to see if the coast is clear, mingyu’s still smiling at him, and the sunset has baked completely into his cheeks, his ears, his lips. minghao’s eyes swoop down for cover. they land on the can of spritzer peeping out of mingyu’s pocket, and he yanks it out, giggling. “you’re wearing khaki, you idiot!”</p><p>mingyu putters, “it’ll dry.” minghao pats his leg a few resigned times, then pulls up mingyu’s pants hard, yanking a squawk, and a growl from mingyu’s stomach. mingyu covers his face. minghao presses their foreheads together, boisterously laughing.</p><p>“wanna go eat?” minghao asks. mingyu looks as if he’s about to ask minghao if it’s really okay, so minghao reassures him, with a tuck of hair behind his warm ear, yes. “your choice.”</p><p>mingyu perks up instantly. “xi’an?”</p><p>minghao carefully considers. “banh mi?”</p><p>they get both, only after wading through the crowd, petting the puppy bye bye on the way out, peering into the film room, sapphire now, securing minghao’s tote from the girl who hopes they enjoyed the exhibit, lapping a quarter of east village to find 1. a restroom 2. an atm 3. minghao’s handkerchief (at the starbucks restroom), facetiming seungkwan who just <em> had </em> to show them hansollie’s new pet turtle, and bickering about the laundry on the lines to order.</p><p>“oh, hao. your book.”</p><p>“mm. that’s right.”</p><p>“let’s go back tomorrow? i’ll pick you up after my lecture.”</p><p>“what, on your citi bike?”</p><p>“yeah, you can pedal.”</p><p>and minghao laughs, exclaiming, how in the world can i bike <em> your </em> fat ass across the city! mingyu slaps his own ass and cooes, it’s all about momentum, baby.</p><p>by the time they settle in for the night, mingyu’s pants will have completely dried. minghao knows. he can feel it in the palms of his hands which, currently, are running across mingyu’s chest, and down his sides, curious, carefully transcribing the path mingyu takes on his own body. the fire escape creaks under the soles of their swaying feet. so many years, and here minghao is, still discovering something marvelously new: the way mingyu’s hair curls mysteriously in the moonlight, the way mingyu gasps when minghao sucks gently on his bottom lip, the way mingyu’s hands fit on minghao’s hips, and his on mingyu’s shoulders. </p><p>in this transparency, a little less afraid, minghao smiles, and holds on tight.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>in late sun, the river and hills are beautiful,</p><p>the spring breeze bears the fragrance of flowers and grass.</p><p>the mud has thawed, and swallows fly around,</p><p>on the warm sand, mandarin ducks are sleeping.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i believe life is always transitionary, (luminal as anj puts it :-) ) and i'd imagine gyuhao being very cognizant of that, rocking back and forth in an embrace between the phases of their relationship that works best for them in their happiness now...<br/>anyway,<br/>if you've made it here, thank you for reading, and i can only hope it may have brought a smile to you as it did for me</p><p> </p><p>take good care, and stay warm<br/>🍊</p></blockquote></div></div>
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